


Crash and Burn

by Oddoneouttoday



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, But also, Coffee, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Halloween, Heartache, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Pizza, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Star Gazing, costumed dorks, dumb text messges, last night cram sessions, video games and movie nights, you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2757656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oddoneouttoday/pseuds/Oddoneouttoday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conservative, republican mother of a bisexual, art loving son; irony at it's finest. That's all my life is, one big ironic twist. Forget metaphors and analogies, irony is where fate finds her humor. I've got tall, dark, and handsome here next to me willing to give me his heart on a silver platter, but it's only a matter of time until fate decides to make me her joke of the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crash and Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe today won't suck that bad after all.

“Jean! Wake up! You’ve got class soon!”

The foggy voice sounds familiar but I can’t seem to place it. Where am I? I glance around cautiously and see nothing but massive trees shaded by darkness. Shit, not this again. I close my eyes hoping to just wake up, but like always, I’m stuck. 

The trees loom over me like towers, reaching a height that’s out of my range of vision. I’m lost in a city of these trees, no light or path leading out. I’m trapped inside of them, endless in every direction. I know trees don’t talk, but I swear to God they whisper to me, the same wretched words. 

‘I hate you I hate you I hate you’

Over and over again, seeping into my mind. They bounce off the trees and in my head, growing louder and louder. So fucking loud. Impossibly loud, drowning out any rational thoughts I may have. 

‘ihateyou.ihateyou.ihateyou.’ 

Hunched over on my knees, my hands tear at my hair. Panic starts to take over, and my breathing becomes ragged and I can’t focus and why won’t you stop shouting at me?! Why can’t I see?! Oh my god, I can’t fucking breathe. Someone help me. Please God someone!

A pair of blinding headlights shine in the distance, and my blood runs cold. No. No, not you. 

Go away, go away! You can’t be here! 

I launch up from my knees, these God forsaken trees won’t shut up! Can he hear them?

“Stop! STOP! Go back!” I scream hoarsely. 

I know my pleas go unheard. I’m nothing but a ghost, but God, I’ve got to stop him! I’ve got to tell him. I can’t let him. I can’t. I run toward the car, but it gets farther away with every step I take. Oh god, stop him! I can’t fucking breath and I can’t fucking see through the tears in my eyes but I have to stop him. The car speeds up and I see him in the driver’s seat, tears streaming down his face, fist pounding on the steering wheel. 

I know he hears the tree’s too. They’re louder to him. 

I’m frozen. I can’t move. I feel the tears run down my clammy cheeks and sink to my knees for the second time. Everything fades away except for the car and a single tree. I can’t watch this someone stop him, please. I can see every detail in his weathered face. The crinkles on the corner of his amber eyes, the short stubble coating his jaw, his receding hairline, the way the tears curl around his nose. I can’t watch this. 

The car heads for the tree full speed and I stop trying to breath. He looks at me and holds my gaze as the car slams into the trunk. He slides forward and his fragile skull strikes the fucking indestructible steering wheel and I choke on the pain as he whispers my name with his last breath. 

A suffocating blackness takes over. The only thing to be heard is my panicked muttering and choked sobs. Not again. Not fucking again. Nonono. Then the faintest of whispers, 

“I.Hate. You.”

It’s soft, accusing. It plays itself over and over again, like a broken record. I roughly grab my hair and yank with all my fucking might. Get out of my head, get out! The hysteria sets in as the image of the crash pops up in front of me, and then to the side of me. My other side. Behind me. Above me. Below me. Everywhere. I can’t escape it. 

“Stop!” I cry, begging the image to leave. 

“Jean, honey. Wake up.”

That voice doesn’t belong. I reach for it. I need to go there. 

“Jean! I’m not playing around anymore!”

I finally start awake, breathing hard. I claw at my neck and fine my headphones tangled around it. How the hell did that happen? I rip them off and chuck them across the room, my phone still attached. They both sail and land with a hard thud. Shit. 

I can’t be bothered to go after them and instead wipe a sweaty hand across my even sweatier forehead. I fucking hate that dream. It’s not even a dream, it’s a damn nightmare. My therapist called it a symptom of PTSD. Whatever the hell that is, I wish it’d go away. 

I scrub roughly at my eyes, willing away the lingering images and reach absentmindedly for my phone until it dawns on me that it’s across the room. With a massive sigh, I manage to tumble not so gracefully out of bed and crawl over to it, blankets and all. It’s cold as hell today, shit. 

9:15. Class starts at 9:30. Is it worth it to skip today? I ponder the idea for another two minutes, still in a sleep daze and decide to go. It’s better than sitting at home all day feeling guilty for skipping. There’s no way I can go back to sleep and Connie’ll never let me hear the end of it. I’m still getting shit from skipping a few weeks ago. 

“Jean! Are you up?”

“Unnhhh.”

“I need you to come down here for a moment.”

“Uhhn!” I grunt a little more forcefully. I just woke up, jeeze. Give me a minute, mom. 

I crawl over to the closet and pull down one of the numerous sweatshirts I own, not really caring which one it is. I slide on the black skinny jeans that are probably a little too ripe to be wearing out in public but can’t be damned to care. 

I skip looking in the mirror for fear of what the mop on top my head looks like and opt to just smooth it out blindly. Maybe I’ll start rocking the messy look. Snatching up my phone and my bag, I head out of my room and down the hall, unfortunately catching my reflection in one of the fifty mirrors mom insists on hanging up everywhere. 

I will most definitely not be rocking the messy look. I look like death. My skin is ungodly pale (I should really get out more during the summer) and it only highlights the dark crescents under my eyes. Miss one night of sleep and it really shows. Ok, more like six nights, but who's counting?

With a sigh, I lick my fingers and try to smooth it down. After several long, frustrating minutes of mumbled swears and threats toward my hair, it finally decides to settle down and become presentable. 

Padding into the kitchen, I plop my shit into a chair and reach for the coffee. Oh sweet, bitter bean water, give me energy. I grab the biggest mug I find and fill it to the brim, watching the steam come off it. I swear, coffee’s never look so appetizing. I wonder if there’s any doughnuts left. I rummage through the cabinet in search of the powdered angels and attempt to take a sip. 

“Fuck shit that’s hot!”

“Well yeah. I just made it, Jean. Don’t be dumb.”

I roll my eyes and set it in the fridge to cool it. There’s not even doughnuts left, this is going to be a great day. Where the hell are my shoes? I’m going to be so late. Hopefully Sasha’ll come to class today to entertain Connie before I get there. I spot the black vans across the hall and start toward them. 

“Jean, listen. I’m going to be busy tonight.”

“Shocker” I mumble sarcastically.

She stifles a sigh and rolls her eyes. I focus most of my attention on tying my shoes, only hearing bits and pieces of what she says. It’s the same as it always is. Out all day at work, staying out late, there’s money on the counter for dinner if I don’t feel like cooking, blah blah blah. 

“..date here tonight.”

My head snaps up. Date? What the hell is she talking about? I send a hard gaze toward her, willing her to explain. She can’t just fucking drop a bomb like that. Jesus, it’s not even noon yet. She raises a perfectly drawn eyebrow and looks down at me. I push away the pang of inadequacy and fight the urge to turn away, keeping my eyes on hers. 

“Yes, Jean. I have a date. I’m still a woman and I still have needs, no matt-”

“Oh my god, mom! Stop! I don’t want to hear that” I groan, running a hand through my hair. 

She chuckles a little, the sounds grating. Why is she laughing? This isn’t funny, it’s serious. Who the hell is this guy? Probably some rich ass, close-minded prick, like most of mom’s other friends. I can’t take another lecture about how horrible Obama is from one of her friends, I will lose my mind. 

And did she say she was going to bring him here? Tonight? Are you kidding me? I don’t want to meet this asshole, she knows it too. I can see it in her eyes. I don’t share her opinions and every time she has company it. Well. Let’s just say it doesn’t end well. They always end up saying something dumb. I tell them it’s dumb, and it’s downhill from there. If she’s going to date, the least she can do is keep him away from me. 

“...for a couple months. Him and his family a-”

“Family? He’s got fucking kids or something?”

I see her distaste at my curse, but frankly, I don’t care. Not only am I going to be forced to meet this asshole, but also his asshole kids. God, I hate kids. 

“Yes, he has three. The oldest, a little older than you, and then a ten year old and four year old.”

This is a joke, right? Please tell me this is a fucking joke. I’ve got to deal not only with the prick my mom’s dating, but also his grown ass son and two fucking little kids. This is bullshit. I’m not doing this stupid dinner. 

“I know this is a lot to take in, but I really think you’ll enjoy them. They’re all very, very nice people and they’re all looking forward to meeting you. M-”

“You’ve met them?! Jesus, mom! I’m late to class.”

“Just think about it, honey.”

I grunt in response and head out the door. My chest tightens as I go to shut the door behind me and I peek my head back in, grumbling an ‘I love you’. Her face perks up, but morphs into such a heavy sadness I can’t look at her. I try not to think about it as I speed to campus, blaring music to occupy my mind instead.

_______

It takes me all of ten minutes to get to campus and inside the dingy lecture room. The walls are bare and painted a creamish color that just looks dirty, and the harsh UV lights don’t help, especially when no natural light is allowed in. Wooden desks are scattered around the room with plastic chairs from the fucking Civil War behind them. This whole room has an old, dusty feel to it, like Nana’s house, but none of the same warmth. 

Connie and Sasha are in the corner of the room on the third tier, our normal spot. I bound up the dusty tiles and sulk over to them, trying to ignore the stony stare the professor is giving me. It’s not my fault I’m late, man. Okay, it is, but he doesn’t need to know that and he definitely doesn’t need to look at me like that, jeeze. I’m half tempted to throw my hands up in surrender. 

“As I was saying before that interruption, today we’ll be continuing our discussion on early Greek settlements…”

I roll my eyes and slump into the chair next to Connie, plopping my stuff down next to me and cringing at the way my laptop lands with a hard thud. Why did I even bring it? I don’t ever use it. Habit I guess. 

“Yo man, what’s up? I thought you weren't going to show.”

“Yeah, I thought about it” I grumble in response, pulling out a few sheets of paper to doodle on. 

I don’t think the Professor is dumb enough to actually think I’m taking notes, but hey, my shitty class doodles keep him off my back. I’ve watched him hound Connie the whole three weeks we’ve been here about not doing anything during class. He just sits and zones out to another dimension. It’s pretty impressive actually. It took Sash and I ten minutes to get him out of it once. It drives the Professor nuts and I think that’s why he does it at this point. 

“Rough morning?” Sasha whispers inquisitively. 

“You could say that.”

They’re both silent, a rare occasion. I know they’re waiting for me to continue, but I don’t really want to talk about it, they’re not going to understand. Hell, I don’t even understand why I got so pissed. Mom’s got the right to date, and it’s better around the house when she finds a guy she likes. She’s a lot cheerier and stays off my back, but it still just get’s under my skin. My therapist says it’s about Dad, but we don’t talk about him. 

With a deep sigh I get ready to tell them the bare essentials to the situation, but the door creaks open again. A tall, dark skinned dude I’ve never seen before creeps in and smiles at everyone apologetically.

He’s sporting an old varsity jacket, probably one from his high school, and physically cringes when the Professor huffs in annoyance. He sticks his arm out toward the many empty seats and the jock looking wannabe scans the room and moves quickly toward the stairs. 

He glances over toward our corner and his dark eyes light up. Who the hell is he looking at? Is this Sasha’s new boyfriend? Can’t be. She’s been head over heels for Connie since middle school. I turn toward my friends and Connie’s got his hand up, waving jock wannabe over. Connie, what the hell man. 

Before I have time to jab him in the ribs for inviting him over, he’s already standing next to me, awkwardly crouching down. He looks a lot friendlier than he did at the door. Freckles splay across his face, gathering at his cheeks that are a bit rosy right now. He’s got the darkest brown eyes I’ve ever seen, shit, they’re nearly black, but warm.

His hairs only slightly lighter than his eyes and splits messily down the middle by a wicked cowlick. It’s a little damp, must’ve started raining out, and he runs a hand through it, fluffing it up a little and pulling it out of his eyes. 

“Hi, is it, uh, it is cool if I sit here?”

He points to the seat next to mine and I’m less than pleased. Even if jock wannabe is easy on the eyes doesn’t mean I want him trapping me next to Connie. Whatever, just for today won’t hurt I guess. 

I shrug my shoulders and move my shit out of his way. He smiles gratefully at me and slides into the seat. Connie reaches over me, not so subtly shoving his elbow in my face, and hits jock wannabe on the shoulder. I resist the urge again to jab him in the ribs for the second time in thirty seconds. That’s got to be a record for him. This isn’t going to work if he’s reaching around me for the next three hours. 

“Hey, Marco! What’s up, man? I didn’t know you had this class.”

Marco. 

“I just transfered actually. It’s normally a freshman class, but I couldn’t fit it into my schedule last year so.”

“Ah, okay. Well, let me introduce you real fast. This spaz next to me is Sasha and this cheerful bundle of rainbows is Jean.”

This time I do actually jab him in the ribs, hard. I’m in no mood this morning for his dumb ass. I knew I should’ve just skipped. I hear Connie groan again as Sasha smacks him on the arm and then reaches over fucking both of us to hold her hand out to Marco. 

“Hi, I’m Sasha.”

“Hey Sasha, Marco. Lovely to meet you.”

Lovely? Way to lay it on thick, bud. 

“Likewise” she squeaks, retracting her hand.

Marco chuckles warmly and then turns to me. I suppress a sigh and flick my eyes toward him. He’s staring at me somewhat intently and I turn toward him a little bit more. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer” I mutter under my breath.

He reddens and I can’t help but smirk. 

“Sorry, you just look kinda familiar. What was your name again. Jean?”

I wince at the pronounciation. Jean, like a pair of fucking Levi’s. 

“It’s Jean. Je-aw-n.”

He turns an even deeper shade of red and what ever annoyance I had toward him fades away. He looks so completely horrified. I can’t help but laugh. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it. People do it all the time, just save the apology alright?”

He nods, eyes wide, and swallows the apology he was about to sputter out. The Professor decides at that point to call us all out on our talking. It was bound to happen sometime during class. One more interruption and we’re all out, so we opt to stay quiet for the rest of class. 

I can’t help but sneak a glance or two at Marco. It’s incredible how he’s actually paying attention to this shit. He’s literally hanging on to every word the Professor says, jotting down notes pretty efficiently. Maybe I’ll have to be friends with this dude, even if it’s just for the impressive amount of notes he’s taking. 

I manage to cover two and a half sheets of paper with the different faces I see in class today, including more than a few of Marco. Yeah, I know it’s a little creepy, but the dude’s got a pretty drawable face, okay. While the amount of faces I was able to accurately draw is pretty mind blowing, I didn’t hear a word the old guy in front said. 

He just went on and on and on about some old dead greek guy. I don’t even remember his name. He must not have been that important. I shrug it off. I’ll be able to figure it out before finals.

“You busy, Jean?”

I turn toward Connie, shoving the paper back into my binder and actually laugh. He knows me better than this. Him and Sash are like my only two friends. Who would I hang out with after class? Fucking Eren and Armin and Mikasa. Ha!

“Funny, Connie” I mutter, waiting for Marco to move out of my way. 

He’s finishing up his notes and stacking them neatly into a binder similar to mine. The only difference is mine is filled with shitty drawings and his is filled with highlighted, organized notes. Like pages upon pages of these notes. He’s only been in this class for a day, how could he possibly have so many god damn notes?

He must see the way I’m looking at him because he turns toward me and gives me a sheepish smile. 

“This is from the last class I had too. It was world history still, but a two hundred level class. I thought maybe I could just skip this one, but I was so lost. I just..”

He fades off and his brows furrow. Is he okay? Jesus, he looks so damn upset for having to transfer a class. It’s not going to hurt your GPA, you nerd. Chill.

“Yeah, ma- Connie. Shut the fuck up for like two seconds, oh my god. What do you want?”

Against my will, I turn toward him.

“Are you going to come get coffee with Sash and I? I’m buying.”

With only a moment of silence he adds, “Marco, you can come too if you’re not busy. There’s this little coffee shop just off campus that’s got the best shit ever, man.”

Marco’s eyebrows shoot up, eyes going wide. A warm smile graces his face and I swear to God the room lights up. Okay, maybe the dude is more than a little attractive. I’m a sucker for a good smile, and oh. Yeah, yup, he’s definitely got one. 

He chews it over in his mind for a moment, brows coming back down to slightly scrunch up. His tongue peeks out from between his teeth and then he brightens back up. 

“Yeah, I don’t have to be to work until 3:30, so I’ve got time.”

“Jean, you coming?” Connie asks, herding us all out of the stuffy classroom. 

Well, if I go home I just get to sit and think about this fucking dinner later tonight and I’ll end up getting hella anxious and panicky, so that’s out. Armin would be the only other person I’d consider hanging out with, but he’s always with Eren and I’m so not in the mood to deal with him and his fucking attitude right now. Connie’s buying, and the coffee is really good. Plus Marco is going and if he’s in this class now it wouldn’t hurt to try and be friends with the guy. If I’m nice to him now, maybe he’ll let me use his notes during finals. 

“Yeah, I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first fic! i hope you guys like it. please please please comment so i know what i can improve on in the next chapter. thank you so much. i have a tumblr (oddoneouttoday.tumblr.com) 3.5K.


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